These lone islands clenched now fall, unclaimed nor held by any other, cleansed sovereign soil of not ritual or custom,dark and empty lacking truth in their form,Yet, in this darkest day transform and reveal from long sojourn.

Bright and full, from blighted fool, casts each point from night,blood finally should spill in spirits fill toward weary sight,should one by one stand unconcealed these many shining stars,for in this season and on such night the day had always been ours.